It was still dark, the dead of night, really, when Sam was startled from his sleep. He always fancied that he slept with one ear open, as his Gaffer would say, in case Mr. Frodo had need of him in the night. But here in Lothlórien, Frodo slept peacefully for the first time since leaving Rivendell. The faithful Sam turned onto his side and drew his blanket up to his chin. “Must’ve been a dream,” he told himself as he closed his eyes once more. Before he could find sleep again though, he heard a low moan from the other side of the tree trunk. He raised himself up on his elbow, trying to see in the starlight. The mounded blankets that marked the spot where Gimli the Dwarf had made his bed were the source of the sounds that had awakened Sam and now kept him from sleep.
The Dwarf did not sleep soundly, if at all. He turned from side to side, constantly muttering to himself. It seemed to Sam that he was in the throes of a nightmare, perhaps reliving the horrors they had faced in the Mines of Moria. Quietly, so as not to wake Mr. Frodo only an arm’s length from him on the other side, he slid out from under his blankets and crept to the Dwarf’s side.
“Master Gimli,” the Hobbit whispered. He hesitated, but then bravely lay a hand firmly on the Dwarf’s shoulder to awaken him. “Master Gimli,” he repeated, “are you well?”
The Dwarf’s brown eyes snapped open at Sam’s touch, but his glare softened immediately. “Young master Samwise,” he said, his voice gruff even in a whisper. “Thank you for your concern, but I am quite all right.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Sam argued. “But you was tossin’ and turnin’ something awful, and moanin’ like you was in pain.”
Gimli glared at the young Hobbit again, but shook his head after a moment. “You’ve found me out, Sam.” He glanced around them, and Sam turned his head one way and the other as well, seeing only their other companions sound asleep, save Legolas, who was abiding with his kin in the trees.
“I found myself very... tense... tonight.” Even in the dim starlight Sam saw a glint in the Dwarf’s eye. “Tell me,” he went on, “do Hobbits ever have need to — to...” He sputtered to a stop, then sighed. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, Master Samwise,” he continued. “You do understand about easing one’s own... tensions?”
“What kind of tensions would you be referrin’ to? Sam asked quietly, half understanding the Dwarf’s direction, half not believing he was talking to a Dwarf about....
“Those would be sexual tensions, laddie,” Gimli blurted out, immediately ducking his head so not to look Sam in the eye.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact,” Sam replied, trying to sound very wise and sophisticated, “we do.” He cleared his throat, not having spoken of such matters since his Gaffer sat him down and explained the whys and wherefores. “If you like, Master Gimli,” Sam went on, “I could help you with....
“With what, laddie?”
“...with your tensions,” Sam finished, glad for the darkness, for he knew he was blushing like a maiden.
Gimli glared again at the Hobbit, then smiled. He lifted the edge of his blanket invitingly. “Well, yes,” he said, nodding his head. “I think I’d like that.”
Sam slid under the blanket, and immediately found himself embraced by the Dwarf. The long, full beard was surprisingly soft against Sam’s cheek, and he nestled into the Dwarf’s warm arms.
Gimli had removed his armor and his outer clothing for the night, and was clad only in a long muslin undershirt. Sam, too, wore only a shirt over his small clothes. Held close by the Dwarf, Sam felt the hard rod of Gimli’s member through the thin layers of clothing they each wore. He took a deep breath and slid his hand along Gimli’s hip, and finding the hem of his shirt, pushed the fabric up.
Ever since he’d first met Gimli, and the other Dwarves at Rivendell, Sam had wondered if their bodies were covered with the same long, thick hair as their heads and faces. Few Hobbits ever grew beards, and even as adults they had very little hair on their bodies, save their heads and feet. The hirsute Dwarves were a mystery to him, and now he learned that indeed, their bodies were covered with hair. It grew more thinly on the upper thighs and flanks, and was soft and downy to the touch. Sam’s fingers twisted in the strands, caressing the warm skin beneath. Once he had hiked Gimli’s shirt up over his hip, he snaked his hand between them to find the hard column of flesh that was so wanting of attention. Sam was no stranger to his own male member, but the Dwarf’s organ was easily twice the size his had ever been, thicker as well as longer, crowned by a mushroom-shaped, velvety head that already leaked fluid.
Gimli sighed at Sam’ s first touch, and gasped sharply when the small hand found his organ. Sam smiled to himself and said, “We’ll have to see, I s’pose…” He ghosted his fingers over the turgid flesh. “If Dwarves like the same as Hobbits.”
“So far,” Gimli hissed between clenched teeth. “It seems we do.”
Emboldened, Sam encircled the thick shaft with his fist, fingers barely meeting his thumb. He pumped up and down, from the root to the ridge before the head, sliding his palm over the crown, he spread the slick fluid along the shaft. When Gimli bucked under his hand, he repeated the motion, up, around, and down. With his free hand he reached between the Dwarf’s stout thighs to fondle the plum-sized orbs in their soft sac.
Gimli grabbed fistfuls of his blanket, his chest heaving with his gasping breath.
With one last gentle caress, Sam released the straining organ.
“Ah, laddie,” the Dwarf pleaded, “don’t stop now.”
“Oh, I’m not near finished,” Sam assured him. He climbed over Gimli’s leg to kneel between his thighs. His own organ was responding as well, and he loosened his small clothes, letting the breechclout drop to his knees. Grasping Gimli’s hips with both hands, he lowered his head and traced a path with the tip of his tongue along the large vein on the underside of the Dwarf’s penis.
“Mmmm,” he hummed as he reached the crown. The Dwarf tasted like springtime, when the earth was newly plowed and the rains kept the air fresh and clean. He had to stretch his mouth wide to accommodate the Dwarf’s size, and he knew he would not be able to take his full length, but he covered his teeth with his lips and took the Dwarf into his mouth, sucking as hard as he could, pulling the throbbing organ to the back of his throat before letting it slide back.
Gimli’s head thrashed side to side, the braids of his beard swinging across his chest. “By Balin’s bones,” he swore, “you’re good at that, young Hobbit.”
Sam chuckled, his mouth releasing the head of Gimli’s organ. “I’m happy this pleases you, Master Gimli,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His shirt still covered him, but did not disguise his own erection. “I’m enjoyin’ it myself.”
Gimli pushed himself up on his elbows. “I can see that,” he observed. “We’ll have to do something about your... tensions as well.”
Sam blushed. “I’m used to takin’ care of myself,” he admitted. He glanced toward the sleeping Ringbearer, then back at the Dwarf. “You’ll have to tell me what else you’d like,” he said sheepishly. “Since you’re still... tense...”
Gimli looked at Sam for a long moment. “Peel off that shirt, laddie, and we’ll see what you can do with that rod of yours.” He skinned his own shirt over his head, revealing his broad chest, covered too, with thick, brown hair. He turned face down and drew up his knees, stuffing his wadded up shirt under his hips. “Delve as deep as you can, laddie; it’ll do us both good!”
Sam was astonished, but felt a sudden throbbing in his loins. “You want me to...?”
“Aye, laddie,” Gimli answered. “I’m afraid I’m a bit oversized to take you.”
Sam peeled off his shirt and shivered in the night air. His pale skin shone in the starlight, and he pulled an extra blanket over his shoulders like a cape. “We’ll have to be quiet, Master Gimli,” he cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to wake up the others now, would we?”
“Hmmmph,” the Dwarf grunted. “Aragorn and Boromir have been humping each other since the dales of Hollin, and even you must know about Merry and young Pippin.”
Sam blushed again. Indeed, he was aware of the closeness between the cousins. They, like Mr. Frodo, were gentry, and his Gaffer had often told him, “The gentry has their own ways, ones not for plain folk like us Gamgees.”
“Here you go,” Gimli went on, reaching back to hand a small leather flask to Sam. “That’s a bit of oil to ease the way.” He craned his head to look at the Hobbit. “Or are you going to sit there all night and just look at my arse?”
Sam took the flask and poured some into the palm of his hand. It was silky smooth and warm to his touch with no noticeable odor. First he rubbed it over his erection, then with his fingertips, applied it to the opening between the Dwarf’s round, down-covered cheeks. Carefully he rubbed the oil around the tight pucker, then, holding his breath, slid one finger into the Dwarf’s body.
The passage was tight but after a moment Gimli let go a deep breath and relaxed. Sam twisted his finger, pumping in and out, then slid two fingers into the hot channel.
He’d never heard sounds like Gimli made. Dwarvish words, he realized they were, and wondered what they meant. While he prepared Gimli’s opening, Sam’s other hand was busy stroking his own organ to steel hardness, and after teasing three fingers in and around the entrance, he pushed his member into the oiled passage
He’d never felt anything quite so hot and tight, but it thrilled him to watch his organ disappear into the Dwarf’s body. He pushed all the way in, until his groin was tight against Gimli’s cheeks, then slid back. Again and again he pushed forward and eased back, and with each thrust he felt like he grew longer and thicker than he’d ever been.
He shifted slightly, changing his angle, and brushed over the secret spot deep within the Dwarf’s body. Gimli cried out, and Sam felt the spasms of the Dwarf’s climax as the tight passage tightened even more around him. It was as though Gimli’s climax pulled Sam’s from him, and before he knew what was happening, he felt himself pour his seed deep inside the Dwarf.
“That was fine, now,” Gimli muttered, pulling Sam back into an embrace. The Dwarf’s belly and chest were covered with sticky semen, and he used his wadded shirt to wipe himself, and to clean Sam of the residue of their joining. They lay together for half the night, until the waning moon rose, filling the Golden Wood with its silvery light.
“I best be gettin’ back to my own bed, Mast... Gimli.” Somehow, Sam didn’t feel the need to add the honorific to the Dwarf’s name any longer. He pulled his shirt over his head, stuffing his arms into the sleeves, and rolled away from Gimli. He tenderly tucked the blanket up around the Dwarf’s chin and gently stroked the bearded cheek. “Just let me know,” he whispered, “if you have any more problems with... with tensions.”
“I shall, Sam,” Gimli agreed. He watched as Sam crept back to his own bed, then turned on his side. “I certainly shall,” he muttered to himself as he dropped into sleep.